


Hanging Tree, The

by Ursula



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-15
Updated: 2000-11-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Hanging Tree, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Hanging Tree by Ursula

Title: The Hanging Tree  
by Ursula  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: Alex Krycek/Walter Skinner (Fox Mulder in Absentee)  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: New  
Archive: Anywhere, as a complete story. If you have a constructive critique and wish to use a portion, contact me directly.  
E-mail address for feedback: or   
Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: No  
Other websites: My page at RATB, thanks to Ned & Leny: http://www.squidge.org/terma/ursula/ursula.htm  
Disclaimers: Walter Skinner and Alex Krycek belong to Fox TV, Chris Carter, and 1040 Productions Spoilers: Major ones for Requiem and minor ones for other SR 819  
Notes: Post Requiem   
Warnings: Dark, deep Walter torture and slash

Just for those interesting, this is what life would have been like for Walter on Death Row:

Once a male offender is convicted of premeditated murder and sentenced to die, he is sent directly to Oregon State Penitentiary. Although no women are sentenced to death in Oregon, their treatment would be comparable. They would be housed, however, at Oregon Women's Correctional Center until shortly before the execution was scheduled to occur.

Oregon's death row inmates are segregated from the general population, with one inmate to a cell. All death row inmates are classified as maximum custody. Inmates on death row are permitted the same personal property in their cells as are inmates in the general population, with the exception of those items that pose a threat to safety or security. For example, no metal items or glass containers may be kept in cells. Items inmates may purchase include televisions and radios (both to be used with headphones). Inmates may purchase items from the canteen (prison store) once per week.

Inmates may not keep a change of clothes in their cells, but rather must exchange clothing items on a one-for-one basis, three times a week.

Inmates are allotted a minimum 40 minutes of inside exercise (including showering and shaving) and one hour of outside exercise per day, a minimum of five days per week. Inmates who choose to forgo outside exercise are limited to the indoor exercise period. Up to four inmates may exercise at a time.

Inmates may place collect telephone calls during their indoor exercise period. Other calls may be allowed as necessary.

Inmates are also provided one half hour of nondenominational religious counseling per week. If an inmate's spiritual needs cannot be met by prison clergy or volunteers, an outside spiritual advisor may be brought in. 

Educational materials are provided to inmates upon written request although subject to review. Inmates also work as tier orderlies, in-house painters and yard orderlies.

Inmates are allowed reasonable visitations, but all visiting is non-contact.

Execution is carried out by lethal injection:

As prescribed by ORS 137.473, the lethal solutions include an ultra-short acting barbiturate in combination with a chemical paralytic agent and potassium chloride or other equally effective substances sufficient to cause death.

****

I have used four versions of the traditional ballad, The Hanging Tree, in this story. The Hanging Tree is a very old ballad, traveling and mutating everywhere Gaelic and English folks went. The most famous version recently was the usage by Led Zeppelin, notable also because they changed the happy ending. I went with the traditional version. 

Dedication: To Lorelei for her belated birthday gift. I showed you mine. Now you show me yours <G>

Also a special thanks to Josan, whom I tried to con into writing this for me. It would have been a better story, but I would never have attempted a WalterTorture story if she had fallen for it.

And as always, to Karen L., not only my beta, but one of my muses as well.

* * *

The Hanging Tree:

****

Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,  
Think I see my friends coming, Riding a many mile.  
Friends, did you get some silver?  
Did you get a little gold?  
What did you bring me, my dear friends, To keep me from the Gallows Pole?  
What did you bring me to keep me from the Gallows Pole?

****

"Assistant Director Skinner?" Voices sounding like jackboots.

Walter rubbed at his eyes, exhausted, hardly believing that he had finally dosed off. He blearily stared at the uniforms; the blank bland faces... and the man in the suit extended his hand to give something to him.

"We have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Fox Mulder." The man said.

"Mulder? Mulder's not dead." Walter argued. "The aliens took him."

A half pitying, half contemptuous expression passed over the elegant Greco-Roman profile. The handsome man pushed back his wavy, glossy brown hair. His blue eyes shone with a fanatic light. Here was a cop bred to the bone. "Yes, sir, that's what you kept telling everyone. We found him. We found the body just where you left him..."

"You have the right to remain silent."

***

"Hangman, hangman, hangman, slack your rope a while  
I think I see my sister coming over yonder stile"

***

Scully made it to jail before Walter's lawyer did. She had either taken the time to comb her hair and put on make-up or she had been out very late. It made Walter conscious of the fact that he had not brushed his teeth; of the sharp odor of the pesticide they had sprayed on him; of the livid color and wrinkled confinement of the jail overall. His ass stung from rough fingers. The search left him feeling sickened, violated. He felt like a steer prodded to the slaughter.

Scully asked, "What happened?"

Walter replied, "I don't know. They said they found Mulder, but I'm sure it was a trick. It's happened before. I know it can't be him."

Scully said, "I'm on my way there now. Walter? Could it be him? Did you really see him taken?"

Walter said, "Of course, I did. Scully, someone is springing a trap."

Scully nodded and replied, "I hope you're right. What possible motivation would you have to kill Mulder?"

****

"Sister did you bring me silver; sister did you bring me gold  
Or did you come to see me hang, hang on the gallows bold

No, I didn't bring you silver, no, I didn't bring you gold  
I have come for to see you hang, hang on the gallows bold"

****

And when she returned, Scully's face was the white of a snowdrift. Her eyes were cold stone blue. She said, "The ballistics came back. They matched your gun, Skinner. Three bullets...three bullets in the skull. Why three, Skinner? I'll never see his face again. You splattered his brain, Mulder's beautiful brain, all over those Godforsaken woods."

Thinking rapidly, Walter replied, "It's not him, Scully. Don't you remember? This has been done before."

Her voice low and passionate, Scully replied, "Don't you think I thought of that? I ran his DNA. It was Mulder. It was Mulder!"

A moment later, the red mark of her slap still hadn't faded. It burned on his cheek. Burned soul deep.

Walter barely made it back to his cell. Staggered to the antibacterial covered slab of thin rubber. His legs gave out. His massive hands clamped to his mouth. He could not breathe. It welled up inside him. Mulder, dead. Mulder gone forever...ah, God! My God, and Walter felt despair. It was a cold, clammy heaviness in his bones, his heart as heavy as lead. His mouth was filled with caustic acid. 

And he had nothing but the shreds of his dignity and the shards of his courage to keep from screaming his agony to the gray, cold walls.

****

Hangman, hangman, upon your face a smile,  
Pray tell me that I'm free to ride,  
Ride for many mile, mile, mile.

****

Last time he traveled this way, he had been with Mulder. Breaking the rules with him. Breaking his heart over him.

Walter looked at the chains on his wrists. Grim faced Oregon detectives accompanied him. In the end, the District of Columbia had yielded its bid for jurisdiction. The murder had happened in Oregon. DC's claim was based solely on the residence of the alleged murderer and victim. He had shuffled aboard the plane, his ankles chained, wrists secured to a belt on his waist. They handled him like a dangerous animal and Walter felt like one. He would gladly have gnawed off a limb to escape this trap.

Walter stared out the window. Clouds whipped by. Too fast, like his life being sucked away. He reached his hand up to rub his forehead, forgetting the chains. He ended up staring in shock at the cuffs. This couldn't be happening to him.

Closing his eyes, Walter shut out the stares, closed his ears to the speculation. He remembered Mulder, frustrating, elusive, beautiful man. And in the corner of his mind, he wondered what Alex was doing. Was this yet another cruel game? Had the nanobytes not been enough?

****

Alex had come to him and said that he wanted to meet with Mulder. That he had information and didn't feel like being beaten in the process of giving it. Walter didn't need to see the palm pilot. He could feel how confident Alex was.

The strange thing was when he held Mulder back from hitting Alex; he wasn't solely motivated by his desire to protect the ex FBI agent. His gut level reaction had been simply to prevent Mulder from hurting the man they had both loved at one time.

Alex had followed him silently to his car after that meeting in his office. He had slid into the car seat as if invited. Walter had slumped behind the wheel; ready for anything, but mostly anticipating the small harbinger of torture, the palm pilot.

Alex had reached into his inner pocket and produced it. He said, "I took it, Walter. I took it and the schematics. This is the last working model. I spent six fucking months in a Tunisian prison for refusing to tell Spender what I had done with this and the data needed to build other nanobytes controllers." Alex flipped the device casually. Walter's eyes followed the toss; he wondered it he was quick enough to take it?

Alex remarked, " I'm at the top of my game. I know what I want, Walter. Do you know what you want?"

Alex had handed him the box and said, "Is this all you want? Is this it? Because if that's all, take it. You're free."

Walter took it. Not many men get to hold the instrument of their death in their hands. He turned it over, hopeful, but suspicious. He asked, "How do I believe you, Alex? How can I tell if it's real and if this one is the only one?"

Alex gazed at him with eyes the color of a jade Mayan sacrificial knife. "Try it. Push a button if you don't believe it's real. And as for it being the only one, guess, Walter."

Walter had believed him. Alex only told useful lies. He'd asked him, "What do you want, Alex? What am I selling this time?"

"Yourself...your body...your bed. Let me in, Walter. I want you tonight just like it used to be." Alex said, voice an instrument of heat and seduction, eyes veiled and lips remaining parted as if for a kiss after the last word had been thrown down like a gauntlet.

If Walter were a consummate liar, he would have told himself that it had been just a bargain. But he was not that lost. His cock had leapt at the invitation. His mind surged with memories that could not even be killed by dying and coming back again. He had started the car and driven home. Alex had followed him in, voiceless like a shadow of the past come to life. 

Walter moved automatically toward his liquor cabinet before remembering that Alex seldom drank. He turned around instead, slipping Alex's jacket off his shoulders. The linen shirt followed. The abomination of the truncated limb surprised him, but Walter was tough. He'd seen worse. He freed the straps and laid the artificial limb on the coffee table. The plastic fingers turned upwards imploringly. 

The rest of Alex's clothing took moments to remove. There he stood, his only hand on his ruined shoulder. Head slightly bowed. His body was scarred and gone lean, as if he had shed every extraneous ounce of flesh. He was beautiful the way some ancient excavated statue would have been, worn clean of paint and etched to the purest lines by nature and time. Even the mutilation was almost beautiful...a study in contrast to the whole.

Walter looked at him and felt desire, remembered the deceitful boy. The sullen anger of the filthy angry man that Mulder had deposited on his doorstep like a cat depositing a rat at his master's feet. And that last incarnation, the terrifying deadly beauty of the killer, cruel with power and remorseless. He was fascinated, drawn in. He embraced them all. He accepted their connection, their doomed dance of love and hate.

Mulder was always the wild card, the diamond mote that brought the machine to a halt. Of course, he decided after all to talk things out after that meeting. He'd used his key and walked right in on Walter and Alex. Walter fell from ecstasy to the vision of Mulder's face, as beautiful and vengeful as an archangel's; his fiery sword was his service revolver aimed at both of his former lovers.

Alex, for once, had no comment, no sarcastic goading. He stared at Mulder from the wreck of Walter's bed. Something made Mulder lower the gun. He looked at Walter, but his words seemed for both of them. "How the hell could you do this to me?"

Alex spoke only one word as their lover walked out the door. His voice sounded regretful, harsh with desire. "Mulder."

Mulder stopped and looked back. He took one step toward them and then shook his head. He turned to leave; his words falling behind him, "No, Alex. No."

The next day, Mulder and Walter had argued. Fought really. Or rather Mulder had flung wild blows and bitter words. Walter defended himself, using only enough force to keep Mulder from inflicting too much damage. 

By the time they left for Oregon, Mulder had reconciled to what he had seen. He had almost been convinced to give Alex a chance. See whether Krycek really meant to help them this time. 

But when Mulder had seen the alien ship; he'd been drawn like a moth to a flame. Walter could only watch as his lover was drawn up, face beatific, hands reaching as always to grasp the unknown.

Walter concluded that someone had set them up. Was it Krycek? Or was it Alex's puppet master.

****

Hangman, slack your rope;  
Will you slack it for a while?  
For I think I see my brother coming;  
He's riding over yonder stile.  
Brother, did you bring me gold,  
Or silver to pay my fee,  
For to save my body from the cold clay ground,  
My neck from the gallows tree?  
No, I didn't bring you gold,  
Or silver to pay your fee,  
But your sister and I have come today  
To see you on that hangman's tree.

****

"The defense asks for a motive. It is my intention to present in a clear, cogent, and convincing presentation that the defendant had a motive, one of the oldest motives known to mankind. The defendant had a turbulent and secretive relationship with a subordinate. A relationship invaded by a third party, which threatened to expose the defendant. The defendant would do anything to conceal the affair. Including murder."

Mackenzie's objection may as well have been the cooing of the pigeons outside in the courtyard.

Walter felt numb. This was not real. It was Mulder's idea of a joke. A morbid, complex farce...

Kimberly Cook was dressed in black. Walter remembered the day he chose her as his personal assistant; he had thought her a drabber copy of Agent Scully. He'd hired her for her skills, her competence, and her air of self-containment. He needed quiet efficiency not fluttering, hovering intrusion on his work. Kimberly had been the perfect assistant. He'd grown so used to her presence, relaxed more than he should have done. 

Their eyes met once across the courtroom. She turned away. Her eyes fixed on a spot over Walter's head...a trick as old as the books, taught in courtroom 101. He heard her qualifications...and her job title, assistant to acting Assistant Director Dana Scully. He hadn't heard that she had taken his place. Good for Dana, Walter thought without venom, keep her out of the field during her pregnancy. 

Walter let his mind drift as Kimberly answered questions about her relationship with him, how much time they spent together, and how open he was with her.

"Did Agent Fox Mulder frequently meet with Assistant Director Skinner?" Cleveland asked.

"Yes, sir." Kimberly's voice said faltering.

"More frequently than other agents?" The district attorney questioned.

Kimberly offered, "Dana Scully also often reported directly to him."

Tireless, his voice carefully neutral, Cleveland asked, "As frequently as Agent Mulder?"

Kimberly shook her head and then remembered to speak out loud. She replied, "No, Agent Mulder met with AD Skinner more than any other agent."

Gently, Cleveland asked, "And were any of those meetings at unusual hours?"

Kimberly said, "Sometimes. AD Skinner worked very late and often on weekends. Occasionally I would come in to help him on a Saturday or stayed after closing. He didn't demand it. I volunteered."

Cleveland grimaced, perhaps not wanting the jury to see Walter as the dedicated man he had been. He said, "Were you aware that Agent Mulder saw AD Skinner outside of the work environment?"

Kimberly blushed, her face beet red. She said, "I heard it mentioned in office gossip, but I never saw anything."

Cleveland turned his dark predatory gaze on Kimberly who literally shrank away from him. His voice quiet, mock whispering in a piercingly intimate tone of voice, which drew intense attention to his question, Cleveland asked, "Did you overhear arguments between Mulder and Skinner?"

Kimberly wrung her hands and said, "At times. I did hear Mulder raise his voice. Seldom, AD Skinner."

Cleveland asked, "Over the last two weeks before Mulder disappeared, did you hear the two argue over anything unusual. Say a name, for instance?"

There was a brief time out in which the issue of leading questions was negotiated. A lot of good the favorable decision was! Kimberly still said, "I heard Agent Mulder shouting about Alex. He said, "Skinner, you had no right to start sleeping with Alex again." Then I heard noises as if someone had knocked furniture over. A while later, Mulder came out. He looked disheveled. His tie was hanging loose and he was holding his shirt as if the buttons were broken. AD Skinner hurried after him. He looked upset. His nose was bleeding."

"Was that the only time that you heard shouting from AD Skinner's office when Mulder was in there?" The district attorney asked.

Kimberly stared at her hands, finally looking up and briefly, pleadingly meeting Walter's eyes. She said, "I heard it many times."

Walter watched his privacy, the part of his life he had guarded from everyone but Alex Krycek and Mulder, erode away. Waiters testifying from restaurants where he and Mulder had eaten, held hands... they had thought discreetly under the table. Neighbors, who had seen kisses exchanged, telling the court that they frequently went into one apartment or the other and didn't exit until morning.

  
Walter's older brother, owner of his own construction business, turned pale-green and ran from the courtroom during this testimony. Walter cursed himself. Not for loving Mulder but for hiding the truth and holding his job and reputation more dear. Walter turned to Marvin Mackenzie and asked, "Can you call a recess...I need to talk to my brother."

Walter still had some privileges. He sat in the client meeting room and marshaled his thoughts to try to get Chuck to understand. He shook his head. The last time Chuck and he had agreed on anything was the day Walter got his shipping orders for Vietnam. Chuck, even more massive than Walter would later be, had towered over the tall, skinny, and homely teenager that Walter had been and boomed, "I'm proud of you, Walt. I really am."

Walter had grown two inches on hearing that. Although later, he wondered...he wondered what there was in that stinking jungle...where every step could be your last...where a friend's laughter ended in a single shot and heads exploding like rotten fruit. Where you could hardly tell a friend from a foe. Where a child could be used as a booby trap...what was there to make Chuck proud?

The door opened. Walter startled. Big brother still had this stupid effect on him despite two tours in Vietnam, a doctorate in Criminology, and a life spent as a tough cop and a tougher FBI agent. He looked up, ready to try to explain. To plead for forgiveness although his sin was hardly the one his brother imagined. 

It wasn't Chuck. Alex Krycek darkened the door. Walter looked up at him and asked, "Where's my brother..."

Alex slithered in. He looked at Walter with his lethal glittering eyes. He shrugged, the one side slightly off kilter. "Half way back home to Chicago? I think you shocked him, Walter."

Walter felt his body shake with helpless laughter. He was trapped in an Absurdist play. He said, "When do you turn into a rhinoceros?"

Alex was quick. And besides, the three of them, Alex, Mulder and himself had spent a Sunday afternoon in bed, watching the obscure movie confected out of Eugene Ionesco's "Rhinoceroses". They had munched on popcorn and nibbled on each other.

Walter's two beautiful lovers had asked him to referee a debate on whether Gene Wilder was sexy or not. Walter had refused to vote, turning the argument into tickling and from there into another round of sex. Those were halcyon days...brief golden hours before Alex lowered his mask and gazed at them with the face of betrayal and death.

Alex said, "The question is when did you notice everyone else around you had become one already?"

Walter said, "About two weeks ago" He asked, "What do you want, Alex?"

"You." He said, "What I've always wanted, you, Mulder, Spender's head on a platter. Walter, you can walk out of here with me. Let me save your life."

Walter took a breath. Walk away. Walk away from the humiliation and fear. God, to not have to go back to that steel coffin, the odor of his own urine, sweat, and feces imbued in the air. To be spared the tightening grip of this trap and shake off the strangling snare...

Walter weighed it in his hands. His life was a dance of compromises, a little white lie yielding to a gray one until lately his words all tasted of dark ashes. Still, he couldn't do it. He was a cop, a glorified one, but still here was where he had led others. Justice...the due process of law... Walter could remember when he believed every word. Still, he shook his head and said, "Thank you, Alex, I really believe you mean to help me...what ever strings you intend to attach. I won't be going. I didn't kill Mulder. The aliens did take him." Walter felt a stir of hope and asked, "Alex, do you know something about it? Is there any way to prove Mulder is alive?"

Alex's approach was a stalking, a sidling cautious movement. He ended behind the small table. Walter couldn't help flinching even though the memory of making love to Krycek was as recent as the argument that issued with Mulder when he caught them in flagrante delicto.

Alex suddenly knelt or did his knees go weak and fail him? That face still beautiful offered its shadowed planes to him. Alex said, "Walter, you know how that would go. If I could bring you proof, it would disappear like everything Mulder or Scully ever got their hands on. Just come away with me, Walter. We can find Mulder. I know we can."

Walter reached out and tenderly stroked Alex's shining hair. He said, "Thank you, Alex, but no. I've compromised enough in my life. I have to do this one last thing by the book."

"You're as big a fool as Mulder." Alex replied. He rose from the floor. His human hand stroked Walter's cheek and he said, "I love you. I'll ask you again if it doesn't go your way."

****

O, the prickilie bush,  
     It pricks my heart full sore,  
     And if ever I get out of the prickilie bush,  
     I'll never get in it any more.

****

You live your life. You're far from perfect, but God knows you've tried. You were a good cop, a good agent, and at one point, you knew you were going to be the one. Yes, the one to clean it up. Make a difference. 

The day the Smoking Man showed up, a part of you started to die. But you were never easy. Even death went to a split decision with you. So for every step that evil old man pulled you deeper, you took one back. And when you hit the mat, you struggled back to your feet and you went just one more round.

But losing Mulder was a deathblow. When Alex betrayed them, they were two ends of rope useless without the middle. But they had knotted up the pain, shortened their sights, and made a life without him. But the rope was unraveled now. Walter had come undone.

****

Hangman, slack your rope;  
Will you slack it for a while?

****

"Walter Sergei Skinner, you have been found guilty in a court of law of one count of premeditated murder, the murder of Agent Fox Mulder, a Federal Agent in the commission of his work."

The rest of the words rolled over him. Walter stood like a soldier. He wouldn't let his agony and confusion show. "To be remanded to Oregon State Penitentiary there to await your death."

But life had finally poleaxed Walter so the sentence was a farce. He stood there a strong man, a brave man...dead on his feet, only too stubborn and proud to know he had received the deathblow.

****

Slack up the rope, slack up the rope,  
And wait a little while.  
I think I see my father a-coming,  
Out on that roving wild.  
Father, have you found my golden ball,  
And have you come to set me free?  
Or have you come to see me hung,  
All on this linden tree?  
I've not found your golden ball,  
And I've not come to set you free.  
But I have come to see you hung,  
Out on this linden tree.

****

  
Walter knew it was Wednesday. He had been issued clean clothing and Father Martin was here. Walter liked the Father. Not for his prayers, but because he played chess. Walter hated the idleness. He had no interest in his brother's guilt gift of the TV that hung out of reach in his cell. He listened more often to the tinny radio that he tuned to the all-sports station or to a local jazz channel, but lately even that held no interest.

Father Martin made his move on the tiny travel chess set. He made Walter's moves too as Walter was not allowed anything with such sharp little parts. His life was forfeit to the state now. And how carefully he was watched lest he cheat that impersonal entity of its' justice.

Father Martin was old, living under nature's death sentence. His hands were leopard spotted with age, quivering with spastic twitching of the Parkinson's disease that robbed him slowly of sensation and motor control. He had fluffs of white hair, like cotton bolls on his mostly bald head. He had the largest ears that Walter had ever seen with black hairs growing from the caverns inside.

Father Martin made a classic defense to Walter's assault. He paused for a moment because his hand was trembling wildly and also because his thick lips quivered as if struggling to keep back words.

Finally, he said, "I'd be remiss if I failed to tell you that you should allow your family to visit."

Walter said, "I won't let them start the wake before I die. I won't let them serve this sentence with me. Maybe I'm just too vain to be seen like this. Don't spoil it, Bill."

The priest closed the game. He said, "Your mother asked me to tell you she wishes for you to confess. To go in peace and receive Extreme Unction."

Walter said, "What should I confess to, Father? To love? I love Mulder. My sin was to deny that and hide that, not in the act or the feeling that I had for him. And I didn't kill him. There are things you don't know. Things beyond what you teach in your catechism, Father."

Father Martin said, "My son, it's not my place to judge you. Only to forgive you and to help you forgive yourself."

Walter stepped closer, touched the bars, aware of the guard's attention as he violated the rules. He said, "Tell me how to forgive myself for losing a battle. For having a lover taken. For being framed. Tell me how!"

The guard said, "Skinner, step away from the bars."

The man in the cell next to him, a serial killer who loved to recount to the cellblock all the struggles of his victims, the way he dealt them slow death, laughed wildly. He said, "He's innocent. The big faggot-cop didn't do it. He's innocent. I'm innocent. We're all innocent." And his demented laughter sent Walter crashing away from him to cover his ears in the corner of his cell.

****

Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,  
Think I see my friends coming, Riding a many mile.  
Friends, did you get some silver?  
Did you get a little gold?  
What did you bring me, my dear friends, To keep me from the Gallows Pole?  
What did you bring me to keep me from the Gallows Pole?

****

Walter had been to one execution. He had forced himself to answer the challenge sent by one of his earliest convictions. They had been using the chair then. Walter remembered his sick horror at the ceremony and also his wonder that the man was so docile as they prepared him in swift order for the electrocution.

Now he understood. Now he felt the relief of knowing it was at an end. Duller wits might cling to the understood pattern of the days. Might hold tight to a life of sleeping and waking, eating and shitting in a cell only slightly larger than his bathroom had been at home.

Walter listened as they read his death warrant. The prison superintendent stared at him as Walter bowed his head, uttering a heart felt, "Thank God."

For the remaining forty-five days, Walter endured. He ticked off the days in his head, dwelling now in better times. Dreamed of Mulder and of Alex. Wondering if Mulder was dead...had they killed him? Would Walter be greeted not by a Valkyrie robed in white armor and linen, but by Mulder's sardonic grin, his eyes crinkled with humor, and his voice full of tender laughter saying, "Now look what I've gotten us into!"

Mackenzie tried to have him declared insane for refusing appeal. Walter found himself arguing for his right to be killed. Small Pyrrhic victory for a fighter going down for the last time, Walter won the right to die.

It took another two months. Another long stretch of stiff denim, cold showers, harsh lights, and featureless walls entombing him. Walter laughed at himself as he shadowboxed in the yard. Alone always. Separated from the other inmates of death row because he was a former FBI agent...their enemy despite the common circumstances. 

  
The one carelessness...deliberate Walter thought, on the part of a guard who had aspired to be a police officer...there had been a certain pleasure to knowing that he had not gone entirely soft. His punches sent the two men who tried to assault him to the hospital. There were no charges. And after that, the malicious guard had been transferred, relieving the row of his jabs and small tyrannies. All in all, a welcome diversion that gained Walter an odd respect from the other walking dead men.

Four days to execution...to freedom as Walter had come to see his execution date. The cell was even smaller. He measured it with his paces. Seven by seven...larger than a coffin but not by much. Walter tried to shut out his thoughts. Goddamn body revolting at last. He wanted to live. He wanted to fight back and it was too late. Too late for anything but regrets and loss of dignity. 

****

Hangman, slack your rope;  
Will you slack it for a while?  
For I think I see my true love coming;  
He's riding over yonder stile.

Sweetheart, did you bring me gold,  
Or silver to pay my fee?  
Or have you come to see me swing  
On that gallows tree?

****

Walter's fingers brushed over his head. He had reached for his glasses, which had been taken as a risk for self-harm. He laughed, causing the guards to stare at him. Walter said, "Don't worry. I'm not going for a last moment incompetence hearing."

Strange on the other side, as an officer of the law, Walter never realized how odd that was. A prisoner had to be sane to be executed. Sane, when the moments dragged on you, a water torture of time, second by second closer to this little box, this coffin before final breath. He didn't know how the others did it. He had given up. Foisting his execution off with endless appeals did not....appeal. 

Walter paced, feeling the swing of his still powerful body. He had dreaded getting old. A modest man, he had never drawn deliberate attention to his strong arms, his legs like pylons, his chest, more defined than it had been when he was twenty. Now, irony, he would never know how he would deal with the ravages of ages. Never have the chance to go gently into that good night.

  
Great, the priest, head bowed, bible and rosary in hand. Did Walter want to see him? His sins had long been confessed. Not to good Father Martin whose company he eschewed in these final days. He had spoken them to Mulder. To Mulder even though he had often wondered whether he truly was mad. Had he killed Mulder, closed those soulful eyes, stilled that mouth that gave such pleasure and annoyed him as greatly with gibes and arguments?

As the priest walked nearer, accompanied by a hulking acolyte, Walter realized that this was not the familiar one. Not the old man with the battle scarred eyes, the weariness expressed in each muttered word. This one was young...every color of the rainbow in a dark mink luster of hair and a ribald walk suggesting a crow's insolence mixed with a wolf-like grace.

Walter's recognition was like a cascade of sensation, waking every cell from stagnant sleep. Krycek, so his old enemy had come to gloat or perhaps his perversity said, his old lover had come to bid him a futile good-bye. Fleetingly, he wished to shrive not his soul, but his body. To scald himself in Alex's love. Spend the remaining hours of his life not in prayer, but in tempestuous acts of passion.

The guards moved away. Far away. Certainly if any of their superiors watched they would have gone on report. The two men turned their backs. One of them said, "All right, Mister. You paid for this. Just don't get any fancy ideas. You can't get him out of here."

Krycek's eyes danced and he said, "I get what I paid for and you get the gold. And don't worry. Two came in and two of us will leave. You'll get your show in the morning. Now, get the hell out of hearing range. I have things I need to say to Skinner."

Walter drew near the front. He said, "Alex, I thought you had given up."

Alex said, "You know I don't give up easy, Walter."

Walter nodded. He wished he could touch Alex. Now the hate was burned away. All he wanted was to touch him, to feel that silken hair, the satiny rounds of his ass, and the soft skin of Alex's lips beneath his.

****

Another Verse:

Yes, I've brought you gold;  
I brought you silver to pay your fee.  
No, I could not bear to see you swing  
On that hangman's tree.

*****

Alex asked, "You ready now? You played it your way to the last spin. Didn't find your justice, Walter. Dirty hands deep everywhere. Now, do you want to die in some misguided sacrifice or play it my way?"

Walter leaned his head against the barrier and replied, "Even you can't get me out of this one, Alex."

Alex grinned and said, "I am the resurrection and the life. Pulled you from the gates of hell one time. I can do it again. Hey, Walter, ever wanted a twin."

Walter had hardly looked at the man with Krycek. He was built like a weight lifter, stalwart jaw, teeth that looked as if he could open cans with them, massive forehead and eyes as expressionless and gray as stainless steel. The man reached for the lock. Alex snapped, "Stand clear."

Nothing dramatic. Nothing to even cause the guards to look. But the cell door hung open. The man reached and touched his face. A moment later, his reflection looked back at him, eyes staring wildly from sunken pits, a complexion gray and dismal from lack of sun, and the stubble of yesterday's beard still unshaven.

The man shed his robe and handed it to Walter. He wore an exact copy of the clean denim shirt, the stiff new jeans. Walter grabbed it and put it on. A moment later, he groaned and said, "I can't let him take my place. Even if he is a clone or an alien."

Alex chuckled and said, "Don't worry. The drugs won't affect Smith. He'll fake your death for you and then we've arranged a little accident. Your body will be cremated before your loving family can claim it. Just one of those gruesome mistakes that occur in the best run of establishments."

Walter shot Alex an angry look. "My family does care, Alex."

Alex agreed too easily, "Of course, they do. But no one, no one loves you the way I do."

Walter believed it. He fucking believed it now.

Alex said, "Now, you have to look like Smith. Hold still."

Alex's hand fitted a mask over Walter's face. The latex stretched over his head and face. Makeup added verisimilitude. The mask wouldn't have passed a close inspection, but Walter didn't expect one. 

Alex's jagged smile challenged him. The husky voice asked, "Now, are you coming, Walter?"

"Hell, yes." Walter replied, stepping out. 

His look-alike shut the cell door and promptly started yelling, "Get the hell out. I don't want a priest. I have nothing to confess. I didn't do it."

Krycek winked and said, "I'm sorry, my son. If you change your mind, Father Martin will be here for you."

Each clanging door lifted Walter's spirits more. Finally, they stepped out into a parking lot. Walter drew in the night air in great gasps. Now, after all of this, he started to shake. Alex said, "Just a little longer"

****

True love, have you found my golden ball,  
And have you come to set me free?  
Or have you come to see me hung,  
Out on this linden tree?

I have found your golden ball,  
And I have come to set you free.  
But I've not come to see you hung,  
Out on this linden tree.

****

When Alex pulled over on the shadowed country road, Walter's mood had shifted. His tears forgotten, he tugged at the encumbering folds of the vestments. He growled as he found the suit beneath the robes. That had to come off soon too.

It would have gone smoother except Walter could not stop ravaging those lying lips, that mouth that prevaricated so often except for a handful of times. The times when Alex Krycek said, "I love you" to him.

Alex huskily asked, "You going do me right in this car? I have a hotel room a few miles down the road."

Walter threw the vestments in the back seat. "Now," he said. He tore off the suit jacket, cursing as he undid the buttons of the shirt. His lips found a rigid nipple and fed off the sweet flesh.

Alex arched and tossed his head back. Alex purred, "Oh yeah, okay. Good thing that I rented a caddy...Can we get in back? Shit, I haven't done this since I was sixteen..."

Walter tumbled out the door dragging Alex with him. He finished undressing his lover and himself, shedding every fragment of the last year. He kissed Alex again, reclaiming his lover, reclaiming his life.

Alex whispered, "You feel so fucking good. You make me crazy, Walter. I want you."

Alex's mouth slid down, nibbled at this chin, suckled on his throat. He stopped to travel crosswise, burrowing through the tangle of hair to find the broad brown peaks of nipples.

Walter pushed at the silken hair, reminding Alex, "It's been a year. Don't tease."

Alex looked at him. Just looked at him for a long heated moment. He said, "I won't tease and you never, never do anything that stupid again!"

"Got'cha." Walter groaned as Alex's tongue outlined the weeping head of his cock. A moment later, Alex swallowed him deep. Walter gripped the caddy's seat, closed his eyes and let the sensation envelop him. One hand slid down, alternately gripping and caressing Alex's hair. He gasped, "I love you." 

Alex only reply was to swallow again. His throat worked and Walter was coming. He roared as the pleasure swept through him, dissolved him, and he was free. He realized he was completely free.

Before Walter had even caught his breath, he traced Alex's hot, sweat-streaked flesh downward to claim him. The taste of him, his unique scent, the sound of his welcoming whimper...he remembered. He remembered what they had. What they would steal back...

As they dressed again, shivering in the cold, Walter said, "I'm not the assistant director anymore. Not even an FBI agent anymore."

Alex cast him an apprehensive look. For a moment, Alex was a ghost, the ghost of an illusion with whom he fell in love. Walter saw the affection, the wistfulness of the young agent he thought he adored. Alex whispered, "I'm sorry."

Walter met Alex's look. He replied, "I'm not. No more blackmail. No more suits. No more rules. We're going to get them, Alex. Every last lying, black hearted bastard is going down."

Alex smiled. "Damn right." Then getting behind the wheel, Alex said, "But first I have a hotel room and a bed. A bed that needs us in it so we can do it right. If you're up to it, old man..."

Walter laughed, a laughter that rolled out of him, gave him strength, renewed him. "I have more than one year to make up, Alex. You're the one that better hope you don't fade before I do."

  
****

Much later, in a room far away, As Walter looked out on a dawn that he never expected to see, Alex came behind him. His new arm, the one that Smith had healed, was pale fleshed. "Mmm, beautiful dawn. Red sky. Who should take warning now?"

Walter grinned and said, "The ones that took Mulder. We'll get him back, won't we?"

Alex replied, "Yeah, we'll do it."

Walter turned around. He gripped Alex's arms, walking him step by step toward the bed. He said, "We'll start tomorrow. Today, I'm going to spend every moment forgetting that fucking hole. Forgetting this last year. Forgetting everything, but these lips, this body, this man, my lover, my savior. Alex..."

  
THE PRICKILIE BUSH

chi: O, the prickilie bush,  
     It pricks my heart full sore,  
     And if ever I get out of the prickilie bush,  
     I'll never get in it any more.

Hangman, slack your rope;  
Will you slack it for a while?  
For I think I see my brother coming;  
He's riding over yonder stile.  
     Brother, did you bring me gold,  
     Or silver to pay my fee,  
     For to save my body from the cold clay ground,  
     My neck from the gallows tree?  
No, I didn't bring you gold,  
Or silver to pay your fee,  
But your sister and I have come today  
To see you on that hangman's tree.

Hangman, slack your rope;  
Will you slack it for a while?  
For I think I see my father coming;  
He's riding over yonder stile.  
     Father, did you bring me gold,  
     Or silver to pay my fee,  
     For to save my body from the cold clay ground,  
     My neck from the gallows tree?  
No, I didn't bring you gold,  
Or silver to pay your fee,  
But your mother and I have come today  
To see you on that hangman's tree.

Hangman, slack your rope;  
Will you slack it for a while?  
For I think I see my true love coming;  
She's riding over yonder stile.  
     Sweetheart, did you bring me gold,  
     Or silver to pay my fee?  
     Or have you come to see me swing  
     On that gallows tree?  
Yes, I've brought you gold;  
I brought you silver to pay your fee.  
No, I could not bear to see you swing  
On that hangman's tree.

Final cho:  
Oh, the prickilie bush,  
It pricks my heart full sore.  
And now that I'm out of the prickilie bush,  
I'll never get in it any more.

HANGMAN or THE PRICKILIE BUSH

Hangman, hangman, hangman, slack you rope a while  
I think I see my father coming over yonder stile

Father did you bring me silver; father did you bring me gold  
Or did you come to see me hang, hang on the gallows bold

No, I didn't bring you silver, no, I didn't bring you gold  
I have come for to see you hang, hang on the gallows bold

Oh, the prickilie bush, it grieves my heart full sore  
If I ever get out of the prickilie bush, I'll never get in it any  
  more

Hangman, hangman, hangman, slack you rope a while  
I think I see my mother coming over yonder stile

Mother did you bring me silver; mother did you bring me gold  
Or did you come to see me hang, hang on the gallows bold

No, I didn't bring you silver, no, I didn't bring you gold  
I have come for to see you hang, hang on the gallows bold

Oh, the prickilie bush, it grieves my heart full sore  
If I ever get out of the prickilie bush, I'll never get in it any  
  more

Hangman, hangman, hangman, slack you rope a while  
I think I see my brother coming over yonder stile

Brother did you bring me silver; brother did you bring me gold  
Or did you come to see me hang, hang on the gallows bold

No, I didn't bring you silver, no, I didn't bring you gold  
I have come for to see you hang, hang on the gallows bold

Oh, the prickilie bush, it grieves my heart full sore  
If I ever get out of the prickilie bush, I'll never get in it any  
  more

Hangman, hangman, hangman, slack you rope a while  
I think I see my sweetheart coming over yonder stile

Sweetheart did you bring me silver; Sweetheart did you bring me gold  
Or did you come to see me hang, hang on the gallows bold

Yes, I Brought you silver and yes, I brought you gold  
I did not come for to see you hang, hang on the gallows bold

Oh, the prickilie bush, it grieves my heart full sore  
Now that I am out of the prickilie bush, I'll never get in it any  
  more

Recorded by A.L. LLoyd  
Child #95

THE GOLDEN BALL

Slack up the rope, slack up the rope,  
And wait a little while.  
I think I see my father a-coming,  
Out on that roving wild.  
   Father, have you found my golden ball,  
   And have you come to set me free?  
   Or have you come to see me hung,  
   All on this linden tree?  
I've not found your golden ball,  
And I've not come to set you free.  
But I have come to see you hung,  
Out on this linden tree.

Slack up the rope, slack up the rope,  
And wait a little while.  
I think I see my mother a-coming,  
Out on this roving wild.  
   Mother, have you found my golden ball,  
   And have you come to set me free?  
   Or have you come to see me hung,  
   All on this linden tree.  
I've not found your golden ball,  
And I've not come to set you free.  
But I have come to see you hung,  
Out on this linden tree.

etc. for brother, sister

Slack up the rope, slack up the rope,  
And wait a little while.  
I think I see my true love coming,  
Out on this roving wild.  
     True love, have you found my golden ball,  
     And have you come to set me free?  
     Or have you come to see me hung,  
     Out on this linden tree?  
I have found your golden ball,  
And I have come to set you free.  
But I've not come to see you hung,  
Out on this linden tree.

Child #95  
From Folk Songs and Singing Games of the Illinois Ozarks, McIntosh  
Collected from Mrs Lessie Parrish, Carbondale IL 1937

Gallows Pole  
(Trad. Arr. Jimmy Page)

Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,  
Think I see my friends coming, Riding a many mile.  
Friends, did you get some silver?  
Did you get a little gold?  
What did you bring me, my dear friends, To keep me from the Gallows Pole?  
What did you bring me to keep me from the Gallows Pole?

I couldn't get no silver, I couldn't get no gold,  
You know that we're too damn poor to keep you from the Gallows Pole.  
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,  
I think I see my brother coming, riding a many mile.  
Brother, did you get me some silver?  
Did you get a little gold?  
What did you bring me, my brother, to keep me from the Gallows Pole?

Brother, I brought you some silver,  
I brought a little gold, I brought a little of everything  
To keep you from the Gallows Pole.  
Yes, I brought you to keep you from the Gallows Pole.

Hangman, hangman, turn your head awhile,  
I think I see my sister coming, riding a many mile, mile, mile.  
Sister, I implore you, take him by the hand,  
Take him to some shady bower, save me from the wrath of this man,  
Please take him, save me from the wrath of this man, man.

Hangman, hangman, upon your face a smile,  
Pray tell me that I'm free to ride,  
Ride for many mile, mile, mile.

Oh, yes, you got a fine sister, She warmed my blood from cold,  
Brought my blood to boiling hot To keep you from the Gallows Pole,  
Your brother brought me silver, Your sister warmed my soul,  
But now I laugh and pull so hard And see you swinging on the Gallows Pole

Swingin' on the gallows pole!


End file.
